Roman Culture to others: OM NOM NOM

Oh, those Etruscan blues...



Am I so petty that I take a casual in-joke reference as a dare? Do I really need to ask these questions?

Only an art student could think "Etruscan Blues" would be an awesome song title, and only an art student could capture it. I am no longer an art student, so allow me some leeway. (I still intend to do grad school, so the spirit remains within!)

The concept is these Etruscan folk are doing their thing, civilization and all, when these young upstart Romans strut up, and on, and over, and by... It's like the Italian Borg Collective! As a student of the archaic arts (not as ominous or mystical as it sounds) I see these young, modern upstarts swipe what the need and digitize the rest. I'm a traditional ink and paper cartoonist, who uses the computer as a took to process the work and (usually) preserve the initial quality. This has, it seems, become a rarity.

First digital coloring happened, and I said nothing, for I thought it a fun exercise. The Waccom tablets came, and I said nothing, for that was actually kinda cool. Then someone posted on The Webcomics List forums looking for hand-drawn and hand-lettered comics, and only a few of us remained... with and embarrassed me halfway out the door and quietly shuffling around.

For me, original strips are important in cartoon. It's a real example of what you've done. You can hang them on gallery walls! They are special, because they show the craft and effort the artist put forth with his or her hands! They are outdated? If every strip is in color, it often means the original is just some pencil. (VG Cats is like this, I think.) Waccom-drawn, clip-art and sprite comics all exist purely in digital forms. Even people who letter in Photoshop don't have a complete original to offer. That's sad. It's also what I'm doing now. For the Precocious parents arc I'm digitally coloring *and* digitally adding text. Yes, it's a font of my own handwriting, but anyone looking at my originals can see the decline. Dialog is hashed in, often incomplete or missing completely. I just need to write enough to figure out where to put the dialog balloons. After that, it's all in Photoshop. That's sorta sad, because the completeness of the original is gone. Progress has come through, taken what it wanted and discarded the rest. Etruscan blues.

Of course, unlike the Etruscans, I am free to switch back to hand-crafted comics as soon as the arc is done. Will I? Am I going to be seduced by the convenience? Am I going to head out and buy a Waccom tablet? Who knows.

As for the actual painting here, it's been a fun flashback experience. The Etruscan blues idea is 10 years old, and this painting looks like something I would have made 10 years ago. The idea was to have people or faces being assimilated into architecture. That's what this, even if my MASSIVE STYLIZATION has taken over to send most of that to an, "Uh, I'll take your word for it," level. Also, after working on all the large canvasses, my old canvas size seems positively tiny! The color here is probably far off (now with three monitors which don't agree, I've lost all perspective) so know it's a bit darker, and was done with periwinkle, white and a dark gray. Let your imagination color correct!

Dionne by the Dozen

Alright, so I made a vow to change how I work. I said I wanted to start channeling misery into productivity, as normally it just shuts me down. The universe decided to call my bluff and KILLED MY FUCKING CAT! Listen, universe, you wretched and cruel shitsmack, I was talking about overcoming the low feelings that come from isolation when friends abandon me and things like that. Death in the family is NOT COOL! Turning life's lemons into lemonade is one thing, but when life loads that lemon into a bazooka and shoots it through your goddamn chest THAT MAKES THINGS A BIT HARDER FOR COPING!

But I'm going to try. Today has been marked by a strange numbness. Maybe it's an emotional hangover. I've been muted today, and if I didn't keep catching myself it could have spent the last 14 hours laying in bed and staring blankly at the ceiling. But I did catch myself, and I tried to work.

I have two more comics sketched out; they need to be inked, but it's progress. The strips also mark the introduction of Dionne, the hard-to-draw cheetah mix. I'm getting better at consistency with regular Dionne, but *this* Dionne is wearing a girly, poofy pageant outfit that is an absolute BITCH to draw. I lucked out with the last strip, as it was so dialog-heavy I could hide her behind a word bubble in the only panel in which she appeared. The next three, however, feature her prancing around and being expressive and stuff. Why do I do this to myself? PRACTICE IS NEEDED!

What you see above (click the image to see it at its full size) is distilled from four full pages of Dionne sketches done over the past day. I played with a lot of things: Shoulder poofs or not? Black hands/feet or not? Does she wear a bow; and, if so, where would it be located? Aside from the shoulder decision (no, I want to show shoulder spots!) I am still not certain. Black extremities are easier to ink, so I'll likely go there as a cop-out. As for the bow, I'd love to put one on her back - but I don't see any panel in the upcoming strips where her pose would make it visible. In the end, I am ready to (once again) toss out visual complexity - in this case, having the kids sit on a couch and eat cookies - in favor of three characters standing in front of a plain white background. If that's what it takes to get them done, then that's what will happen. GO MEDIOCRITY!

Periwinkle: 3/17/1993 - 9/5/2008

Today was supposed to be a good day. It was a beautiful day, I was feeling great and the electrician was finally here to fix my lights. Today was the day I was going to sit down and begin making up for lost time in drawing my strip. Naturally, seeing that I was about to become happy, the universe chose to rip my heart out and stomp on it instead.

Today's events have left me absolutely devastated, incapable of anything but the most common analogies for sadness and heartbreak. I apologize for the weak literary merit of the post, and I hope you understand. I've been blindsided and coping is out of the question at this point.

Peri had started to look a bit ragged over the past few days, but I had chalked it up to her playing in the (dirty) dog pond. We have several tiny frogs (and the odd, late bloomer tadpole) living in the pond, and I'd caught Peri playing in the water before. Otherwise, she was the same as always: Sweet, loving and smart. When I was reading my book outside, she would come over and sit in my shadow, purring until she fell asleep. Even yesterday she was up to her old habits, begging me to turn on the kitchen faucet or to put ice cubes in her water bowl so she could bat them around.

But today mom discovered a spot of blood on the floor. Peri had started bleeding from her mouth. Our normal vet was away, so I had to drive her across town to a new place. On the way, Peri started to cry - something unusual for a cat who always had a loud purr for everyone, even the vets giving her shots! I dropped her off, talked to the vet and they said they'd give me a call once the results of the bloodwork were in. By the time I got home, they had already called. My mother was crying so hard she couldn't finish the sentence when she tried to talk to me. All I heard was, "she has cancer."

The vet had explained that this cancer was a fast-acting type. A mass had begun growing in Peri's mouth and rapidly expanding. We were told there was nothing that could be done. Not wanting her to suffer, we agreed that she had to be put down. I will likely hate myself for the rest of my life for doing this, but I couldn't see it happen. I couldn't take it, and had to sent my mother to sit with her during her final minutes.

This was *my* cat. I had picked her out and named her on the spot. I had insisted she be brought home with us when the rest of the family had chosen her brother, Striker. This cat had been my companion for more than half my life. I loved her.

Today was supposed to be a good day; the day when I started picking up the pieces and fixing my life. Now I can't stop crying.